


My Everything

by actually_satan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Suicidal Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actually_satan/pseuds/actually_satan
Summary: Hank is late to work again, so Connor goes to check up on him.





	My Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think the first thing I'd write for this pair would be angst, but...I don't know what else I expected from myself. Kinda a vent fic.

Connor and Hank were almost permanent partners at this point. They'd done quite a few cases together, both small and more serious. Whatever case Hank was put on, Connor was his partner to work through it. Most days, Connor liked having the Lieutenant by his side. Though he was an android, they'd come to get along and work as a team. They had their ups and downs as most did, no matter what kind of relationship they may have. Connor thought he could consider them friends.  
  
  
Hank told him what was on his mind sometimes, even if Connor didn't ask. He told him things he would never tell anyone else. Sometimes he told him about his past and the times he told him more trivial things like how he found a new song he really liked. He'd even asked him once if the outfit he had on looked good on him. He asked for his opinion! Even the little things made Connor feel a little warm on the inside.  
   
  
Since he'd began to realize he could feel, even as an android, he noticed changes within himself. He was much more fond of Hank than anyone else around him. He cared for his happiness and safety and knew he would do what it took to try to make Hank happy. With what he knew of the man's life, he wished he could take the pain away, but even with what he was, there was no cure for emotional pain or mental illness. The only thing he could do for him was be the best friend possible.  
  
  
With that being said, good friends made sure that their friends made it on time to work and Hank was over an hour late. Being late wasn't exactly rare for his Lieutenant, but what was worrying was that he hadn't picked up any of his calls. He hadn't sent a message, either, saying he wouldn't be coming in or that he was going to be later than usually or even, “Fuck off, Connor. I'm tired.” Connor was worried, but when he brought it up to anyone else, they didn't find it strange. It was like they didn't care and that infuriated him. Though, rather than expressing his anger, he decided his strength would be best directed towards getting to Hank's house.  
  
  
Connor arrived at his house fairly quickly. He skipped ringing the doorbell as he'd been there several times before already and if Hank was sleeping, he probably wouldn't appreciate having to get up just open the door for him. He let himself in and was greeted by Sumo with as much enthusiasm as usual, which wasn't much. As much as he loved that dog, he could only spare a few seconds to rub his head before he set off to Hank's bedroom.  
  
  
Connor opened the door slowly. The first thing he heard was the quiet sound of jazz, most likely coming from headphones. When he looked into the room, he saw Hank lying in bed on his back. As he moved closer, he saw the complete mess surrounding him. There was beer spilled over the sheets from the bottle he had in his left hand. With each step, he saw a new detail in the scene. Beer, junk food, and an old photo of his son lay scattered on the bed. Beside him was his phone, a very short text written out to someone, though he didn't look at it long enough to find out what was written or who it was for. The moment he looked to Hank's face, he knew what had happened there.  
  
  
Connor pressed his fingers to Hank's neck, even though he couldn't see any visible wounds, just to make sure he was still alive. When he could feel the pulse and hear the steady breathing from Hank's mouth, he felt somewhat relieved, though the other part of him was still tense with worry. There was tear stains on Hank's cheek and right beside his head, on the pillow, was a gun. The same gun he'd seen Hank with more times than he could count. He picked it up and noticed all the bullets were there except one, which had been fired into the wall behind his bed.  
   
  
Though he hated to imagine what happened there, his mind pieced it together almost automatically. Hank was going to kill himself, no gambles this time, but for some reason he didn't and instead fired just next to his head. With the angle, it couldn't have been a drunken misfire. He knew that for sure. The reason Hank was passed out now was most likely from the several empty alcohol bottles he saw laying around.  
  
   
Connor wanted to wake him up like he had many times before. He would walk him to the bathroom and start a shower because they weren't in any hurry. After he convinced Hank to actually shower, he would throw his dirty clothes into the basket and take out fresh ones for him. That would be it. They would move on and neither of them would say anything or do anything when all Connor wanted was to hold him in his arms and be with him. He wanted to tell him that he cared for him and that he would always be there when he needed someone because he was by far the most important person in the world. Maybe he'd been watching too many TV shows nowadays, or maybe it was these feelings, the ones he still wasn't used to, finally becoming too much for him to just hold in.  
  
  
Yet still, holding them in was exactly what he did. For now. He focused first on cleaning up the bed and the room. He took all of the trash and threw them out, from recycling the bottles to throwing out the half-eaten bag of chips. He also turned off the music he could hear from the headphones that had long since fallen out of Hank's ears. He took the photo of his son and gently placed it down on the table next to to the bed. When he took the gun, he brought it out of the room and to the kitchen to place it on the counter, so it would be out of sight for a while. He came back to the room and found Sumo on the bed next to Hank now, laying his head on his stomach. Without disturbing either of them, Connor took the phone that had been beside him. He meant to lock the phone and then charge it, so it would be ready by the time Hank awoke, but his eyes got caught on the message. He hated the idea of being nosy or seeing what wasn't his to see, but the moment his eyes skimmed across it, he'd already read it.  
   
  
It was a message meant for him, one that Hank hadn't sent. He probably regretted it halfway or forgot about it, undoubtedly drunk at that point, but the what was written was short and coherent even through a few typing errors. It made him feel something...indescribable.  
  
  
Connor quickly shut the phone off and found a place where he could charge it, trying to forget that he'd ever seen what he wasn't supposed to, but it was prominent in his mind. He felt something he could recognize as sadness, maybe more intense or a mixture of emotions he didn't know. Something welled up in his eyes, a feeling he'd never had before. He put his hand up to his face to touch around his eye, thinking that something might be wrong with him. When he looked down at his fingers, he saw blue. Thirium 310 was leaking from his eyes in small drops. It was almost like...  
   
  
“Tears?” His whispered to himself in confusion.  
  
  
“Connor?”  
  
  
Connor quickly turned around and saw Hank standing there, no doubt more agitated than anything. He was probably hung over, among other things, and Connor hadn't even gotten him a glass of water or a painkiller to help him. “Lieutenant-”  
   
  
Hank frowned. “Are you...crying?” He asked, likely more confused than Connor himself was.  
  
  
“I...” He reached up once again to his face. More and more liquid, even as he wiped it away. There was a tense feeling in his chest and he found himself gasping for air that he didn't need. “I don't know.” Was this crying? If so, why was he crying? It had never happened before, even in the worst of times. What had triggered this? The message?  
  
  
Suddenly, Hank was in front of him and for some reason Connor couldn't help but reach out for him. He held on to his shirt tightly and leaned his head against his shoulder. He instantly felt a comfort from the warmth of his body, but his tears continued, even as Hank's arms wrapped tightly around him.  
  
  
Connor knew he shouldn't have been the one crying or getting comfort, but all he could think of was the emptiness he would feel if he'd found no pulse in the man he was hugging. If one day he was gone. He felt selfish that through all of this, he hadn't been the one to put a comforting hand on his Lieutenant's shoulder or pull him into an embrace. Instead, Hank was there for him, whispering to him quietly that everything would be okay. Connor could only hope that the tightness of his hug could convey what he felt just as strongly.  
  
  
One day, he wished to tell Hank everything he'd felt. He wanted to tell him what the man had nearly said to him that night through text.  
  
  
_'You're my everything. I love you.'_  
  
 

**Author's Note:**

> I spent like an hour writing this and felt the need to post it now instead of waiting because I'm impatient.  
> I'm thinking of writing another connecting chapter that focuses more on Connor trying to do stuff for Hank. Probably soon if I still have motivation to write.


End file.
